PostOp
by Rosaiem
Summary: Gee, Doc, even though you're turning me into a monster, it sure is great to see you acting human for once. noncon


**Don't you hate when you feel obligated to write something because there isn't enough of it? Just thought I'd throw that out there. **

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><p>He raised his eyes, tilting his head.<p>

What do you want now what the fuck do you want now.

Hojo didn't even look at him. Just shook the taser once, gently.

Haha. Right.

It was Bathtime.

He was dragged up roughly by the elbow. His hand fisted awkwardly on the front of Hojo's lab coat, which Hojo carelessly pushed away with his wrist.

He hated Bathtime.

It always came before knives and needles and stitches.

He didn't work with or against the professor- no point either way. Just let himself stumble into the cramped sanitation chamber.

It was dark and close (so so close)- he couldn't breathe. He never ever got used to this, never got used to standing and trying not to let his fear show, backed against the wall as the boiling hot water and chemicals jet out from everywhere and cleaned away the blood and filth.

He grit his teeth, trying not to whimper or make some other animal noise as he tried to use his one good hand to shield his still sensitive…

he laughed, then having to spit out water and god what the fuck was that.

He had to shield his arm stump. It was just so funny. Powerful Vincent Valentine, the best damn marksman the Turks had ever seen, much less gotten hold of, was using his gun arm to protect the stump of the recently amputated arm on his left.

It was funny because he was the one that made the Good Doctor take his arm. He'd torn it up because-

why was he laughing again? What was even funny about his mutilated left arm?

The shower was over as soon as it began, an eternity ago.

Hojo hauled him out by the arm, using his still poor sense of balance to his advantage as he pushed him onto the exam table in the center of the room.

"Aren't you ashamed that the only person you can drag around is drugged up and practically armless?" Vincent asked, lazily allowing the arm to push him down by the chest.

The Doctor made no sign of hearing, apparently absorbed in buckling the thick restraints.

Vincent laughed, suddenly. "Hey, Doc. Look."

He bent and unbent his left elbow, for once not feeling the belt on his wrist as he moved his arm freely. Because his wrist wasn't there. Haha.

"It's a good thing you can tear things up so well, because you're shit at keeping them together."

Hojo ignored him. Like usual. Asshole.

The taser was set aside, the gloves snapped on, the tools were brought out.

Then, of course, the tape recorder was turned on with a precise flick of a finger.

Fuck. He hated the tape recorder.

As always, he jumped at the sound of the scientist's voice.

"Experiment number 274-" Hojo said, impassively, setting up the tray of sharp sharp sharp tools- "Test subject 2V."

How the days just flew by as a scientist's guinea pig. Vincent had been sure that it couldn't have been more than 142 experiments by now.

"Lab setup 3. Goal- attachment of prosthetic arm base to nerve ends. Subject still in mental shock from recent amputation." Hojo said as he injected Vincent's still flexing arm at the bicep. Gradually, he lost all feeling in the arm, and it lay pathetically against the table.

"I am currently reopening the skin at the end of the amputated limb-"

And that was why he hated the tape recorder. It wasn't enough to have his skin painstakingly sliced open, then have to watch as Hojo fished around for his nerves and attached every single one to a band of metal. He had to hear it in his voice.

And he had to grit his teeth and chew the bloody insides of his cheeks and to avoid screaming or cursing or making any kind of pitiful sound Hojo or any other scientist would hear when they reviewed the tapes.

Even if Hojo took away his sense of feeling, he could still see hear smell and sometimes even taste what was being done.

The procedure last hours. And through the whole thing, Hojo's cold, impassive voice. Detailing.

"-nerve impulse-"

"-should subject reject-"

"-blood-"

"-reaction-"

And then it was over. And he was only a metal plate on his arm worse for the wear.

Hojo sterilized the tools in the same post-op silence as always, leaving him to stare blankly at the ceiling.

He spoke without meaning to, tired of the quiet and the occasional soft clinking.

"People've always called me cold. But I think you're better at it than me."

Hojo gave no indication of having heard him. Cold.

He'd have to try harder, then.

"Lou said so. You know, Lucretia."

Hojo tensed, but continued his cleaning.

...Warmer...

"You probably didn't call her Lou. You weren't all that close were you?"

Hojo's hand had stopped on the scalpel.

Hot?

"You didn't even seem human. Did you even get off to humans?"

Hojo was eying him now over his shoulder.

Hotter.

"Bet you got off to the mutants in your lab…"

Boiling.

God the look on Hojo's face.

"You had to, since they were all you ever saw- Lou was always with me. I know she didn't give a shit about you, since you never did about her…"

It was full of pure venom.

Vincent smiled.

"Right?"

Suddenly, Hojo dropped the cloth and instrument, face inches from his before the scalpel even clattered to the ground.

"When-" Hojo snarled, face twisted in emotion which Vincent hadn't thought him capable, "Did you get so talkative, [i]Vincent[/i]?"

Vincent grinned madly. Hojo had spit out his name like a curse.

"Guess what Lou said was true. You do only hear what you want to."

Hojo obviously had no idea what to do with his raw fury. He was meeting Vincent eye to eye, breathing through clenched teeth, clenching his fist and digging it into Vincent's chest.

[i]punch me[/i] Vincent suggested, chuckling at the idea. [i]act like a human for once. [/i]

The noise seemed to prompt Hojo to action. But Vincent's smirk abruptly switched to confusion when instead of drawing his fist back, started unbuckling his pants. What-

was-

he- Oh.

Oh.

His eyes widened in realization and momentary shock. This was something he didn't expect. Not from Hojo.

He regretted registering his surprise instantly, because Hojo laughed at the expression on his face and Vincent saw the hand that wasn't on his chest jerk once, twice.

"I don't hear you talking now- Vincent." He did it again, with his name. Vincent caught himself, scowling to put himself back on guard.

Hojo undid the restraints on his legs, obviously confident that he'd be too weak post-op- with the drugs and sedatives in his system- to do much.

He climbed up onto the table.

He lifted Vincent's hips, propping one of his legs on his shoulder, easily overcoming the almost nonexistent pull against him.

It was pointless to struggle. And Vincent fought few fights he couldn't win.

And he sure as hell wasn't going to act helpless and beg. That was probably exactly what Hojo wanted.

Still Vincent arched, jumping in reflex, tugging weakly against the restraints when he felt Hojo's bare flesh bump against his bare ass.

"Aren't you going to buy me dinner or something-" Vincent snapped, at a loss for words because Hojo was grinding against him and fuck he was already hard. It didn't matter- the punch he was expecting came finally right into his mouth.

"Shut up. [i]Shut up[/i]."

Of course he didn't . "I'm surprised you didn't slap me like a bitch, Profess-."

He suddenly clenched his teeth to stop the quiet choking noise he made as Hojo drove straight into him. He'd almost expected fingers, for a moment.

He nearly cracked a tooth, his head snapping back, jaw tightening when Hojo thrust again. Fuck, did that hurt. Fuck.

He'd been trained to expect this as a Turk. Rape was of the many weapons an enemy could utilize. He was accustomed to pain, he-

he grunted at yet another thrust, his leg slipping off the shoulder before him.

[i]human enough now, vincent?[/i]

Vincent heard the mocking in the quickened breathing.

"Lou used to complain, too-" Vincent lied, trying to drown out the sound, to fight verbally where he wouldn't physically. His voice caught with each sharp movement, "About your small-" a hand covered his mouth in more of the slap he'd expected, slamming his head roughly against the metal.

"It can't be too bad-" Hojo hissed, leaning further forward, inadvertently brushing against Vincent's prostate in the process, making Vincent jump, "You're bleeding-"

Hojo needn't have told him, because he felt the sticky fluid and Hojo scrapping inside him, skidding. He focused on the feeling of the hand against his mouth and the hand bruising his hip.

You'd better slow down Lou told me you always come too quick-

He jumped again, this time at the direct hit to his prostate, a surprised groan tearing from his throat.

He met Hojo's eyes purposely. They laughed at him, but he laughed back through the pain. Pathetic. God how pathetic.

Hojo's face was twisted, hatred and triumph.

Vincent watched placidly, thoughts churning beneath.

You look ridiculous- he almost mouthed against the hand, but decided against it.

His legs were wildly splayed, wide and high, toes curling and flexing and curling again. His arms were still securely strapped down to the table, but his now metal forearm bent inwards, the cold metal touching his torso, another feeling, something else to think about along with the soft grunts and the slapping and the taste of latex and the sweaty metal under his back and occasional accidental pleasurable drive into him and why couldn't this motherfucker just finish before the blood scabbed or he got hard or both-

He felt the burning as Hojo did just that, ignoring his choking gasp as he attempted to arch against the stinging as semen coated where he was torn, only to have his hips yanked down by the fist clenched into his flesh.

The man above him caught his breath slowly.

He'd never even removed his labcoat.

Then, Hojo, doing the very opposite Vincent had expected, snapped his eyes open and scrambled off the table, leaving the prostrate man to hiss and jerk his legs feebly at the sudden removal.

Hojo buckled as his feet hit the floor, steadying himself on the table. He glared pure venom at Vincent, who tilted his head.

"Aren't you going to gloat- or something, Professor?"

Smack him around a bit? Laugh?

Hojo didn't reply, shaking his head slowly as if in disbelief, still scowling. Back to that, then.

Vincent smirked, curling his lips lazily.

"I wouldn't either, if I were you. It's just like Lou said- you're a lousy fuck."

Hojo snarled. Vincent laughed, iron around the edges.

Buckling his pants quickly, Hojo spun around, Vincent eying the trembling shoulders with delight.

"Professor-" He called, singsong. He almost giggled when Hojo snapped his head around with his teeth bared.

He languidly pointed, wrist barely able to lift. He watched the shiny eyes follow his finger to the tape recorder, widen.

"Hope you didn't accomplish anything groundbreaking today- besides screwing your science project."

Hojo switched the recorder off like he was in a trance, withdrawing the tape. He stared at it blankly.

After what seemed like hours, Hojo let out a deep sigh, shakily rubbed his temple, then pocketed the tape in his lab coat..

When he'd finally regained control, he left without sparing a glance to the man still bound by his upper arms to the table, squirming away from the pool of drying blood and come between his thighs.

He'll come back, Vincent thought, lowering his head, laughing softly.

He'd won.

He shifted his thighs, trying to alleviate some of the pain.

Hojo wouldn't be able to look at him now without seeing his own weakness. Wouldn't be able to review his progress without hearing himself lose control.

His cheek rested on the table, and eventually he felt himself drifting.

Pain wasn't a huge deal anymore, hadn't been for years. Rape was just another kind of pain, and in this case, it was the only form of winning he'd been able to achieve.

But the victory felt… what was the word. Lou had said it once about an experiment she wasn't satisfied with. Something about the hollow feeling the success had brought her because of what she'd had to do to achieve it.

Pr… pyrr…?

It wasn't for him to remember. He was a bodyguard, not a scholar. He was a Turk, not a scientist.

He'd have to ask the Good Doctor if he knew the word, he thought as he slipped off to sleep.

Of course he wouldn't get a response. But he would ask anyway.

He was sure it was a word Hojo would appreciate.

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><p><strong>I fucking love Hojo. <strong>


End file.
